I submitted my children’s book for copyright recently, and I’ve got to be honest: it feels pretty damn good. It feels pretty damn good to actually take a step toward accomplishing something. It’s not just talk, talk, talk anymore; it’s an action. It’s a decisive step forward in obtaining my dream career: writer, 5’2’’, a little stocky but with a wicked mind and even better cursive. All of the excitement has me asking myself: Why in the world did I wait so long?
I’m turning 28 years old this fall and truth be told, I have something pretty decent to show for it. I’ve been featured in a book (thanks, Thought Catalog!), gotten lost on the subways of New York with sweat dripping down my polyester blazer, sprinting up to the 40th floor of the Hearst building to interview for an internship with a magazine. I’ve had articles go viral. I even had Sophia Bush tweet out my article on positive body image because at no point in life should any woman, EVER doubt her self-worth and her amazing, beautiful body JUST THE WAY IT IS.
But do you want to know what stopped me from my mediocre fifteen minutes of fame? Fear. And laziness. And comfortability. And the inevitable drone of “tomorrow is another day” playing on a sadistic loop kind of like Peter Griffin when he becomes obsessed with “Bird is the Word.”
And I’m right – tomorrow is another day; another day to take one more step toward who you want to be.
I hate to be that person that sounds all preachy like one of the obnoxious Lularoe, Rodan and Fields or protein shake sales-women who I continually block on Facebook but somehow keep getting re-added to their groups. This is me laying my cards out on the table, and me, earnestly hoping that you’ll listen.
Life can be extremely short. I learned that after my mom passed away with a long laundry list of goals she never had a chance to accomplish and places she’d always dreamt of visiting. I stood by her grave on a cold, bitter winter morning, mourning all the moments we’d let slip by just because “tomorrow was another day.”
Tomorrow is bullshit. It’s not about the promise of tomorrow, it’s about pushing your desires and happiness to the side.
Why is your life always on the back burner? Forget kids, and family, and loved ones who seem to have too much to say when they drink a bottle of wine with dinner. We’re all passionate about something and I just can’t understand why anyone would want to waste another moment instead of sharing their talent, their beauty with everyone on this great, exquisite universe.
I had been writing now for twenty years. I can take you back to countless Saturday mornings, curled up with my notepad and glitter gel pen soaking through the pages. I can take you back to mornings spent with chamomile tea and evenings fueled by seven red bulls. I can go back not one, not two, but five different laptops all filled to the brim with unfinished stories and poems, and how fucking terrible it felt to have my husband cheat on me with some woman in the back of his sports car. I could tell you one thousand different renditions of the same story, the same love affair because I’ve recounted the words a myriad of ways.
Yet, despite all of this; despite all the years spent with my fingers thrashing against my keys, I would never publish anything. My words were mine to keep and mine to hold onto in case I failed. This great big world is full of hate. It’s full of grinches behind a plasma screen, with squinty eyes and jealousy enraged hearts.
But it still shouldn’t stop you.
Because, out there, in this great big, gigantic world of ours, there will be one person who reads your words and smiles because your voice is what helps them to empower their own. The world needs your talent. They need your voice, your courage, your mind.
Be brave and don’t sit around waiting for tomorrow. The world can’t wait that long.